


Life, Love, & Liberty

by GoodJanet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: All the Women are Happy, Chair Bondage, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Murder, Revenge, Running Away, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 10:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4301199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a sweet 16th birthday fic for stagenstein, I'm giving all the women of <i>Hannibal</i> the happy endings they all deserve!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameExpendable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameExpendable/gifts).



> Birthday Fic Requirements:  
> -Hannigram  
> -Allusions to BBHMM/Hannibal tied to a chair  
> -Alana/Margot  
> -Chiyoh and Bedelia meet and are badasses  
> -Include Mason in some way
> 
> I got 'em all!

The bed beneath her is soft and spacious. Alana supposes this is one of the few comforts Margot enjoys and one of the few items she is allowed to purchase with the Verger fortune. She checks her phone and gingerly turns onto her side to see if Margot is awake.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Alana answers.

It might seem strange, but Alana has noticed that neither of them ever add a “good” at the beginning. Things never seem truly good enough to be greeted in such a way. It was morning; there was so much that could still go wrong. Margot reaches out a gentle hand and tucks an errant lock of hair back behind her ear. 

_This_ , Alana thought. This would always be right.

“You’re thinking very loudly this morning. Something on your mind?”

Margot was good like that, at reading people. Considering the nightmare that she lived with, Alana guesses that reading people is what has kept her alive for so long.

“I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

Margot smiles. She always smiles like she knows more than you do or like she’s got a particularly juicy secret. It’s maddening in the most delicious ways. It draws her in. And if Margot is holding all the cards, she knows she has nothing to fear.

“Likewise. Victims of circumstance, I suppose.”

Alana frowns.

“Is that how you see us?”

Margot sighs.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. But if we hadn’t gone through what we did, we wouldn’t even know that the other existed. Our stories have been irrevocably intertwined, and I intend to make the best of it.”

“I know. I’m happy being here, with you. This must have been a very lonely place.”

Margot swallows. It’s difficult to open up, but Alana is someone she has grown to trust and confide in. If there’s anyone she can truly connect with, it’s her new companion and lover.

“You know, even now, I find it very hard to say too much.” 

Her eyes dart to the corners of the room. Alana’s follow. 

“My rooms used to be bugged and miked. Anything Mason deemed ‘suspicious’ was punishable. I find the urge to remain silent is difficult to overcome.”

Alana has heard and seen horrible things in her years as a psychiatrist, but Margot’s stories—what little she has told—are some of the worst. But if she’s being honest with herself, things haven’t been so great for herself either, if the metal in her body is anything to go by.

“But I don’t want to be like that around you,” she concludes. “I want us to overcome this. There’s more to life than Mason, Hannibal, and Will.”

Alana smiles.

“You always know just what to say.”

Margot leans down to kiss her face. So gentle and soft.

“Come on,” Margot says. “Let’s see what the cook’s made for breakfast.”

Margot slips from the bed, dons her dressing gown, and makes her way back over Alana’s side of their bed. She still needs help getting dressed, but can walk fairly well with her cane with breaks in between.

“I hate that you have to do this.”

Margot waits for Alana to slip a green sweater over her head before helping her slip on a pair of jeans.

“I didn’t have anyone familiar to help me during my recovery. I’m happy to be here for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Alana wants to reply, but the lump in her throat won’t let her. It’s partly from pain and partly from her kindness and partly from a feeling of anger and bitterness since the moment she saw Abigail in Hannibal’s house. Before she can stop them, the tears are flowing down her face, and Margot is rushing to her side.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

Alana nods and Margot wraps her arms around her girlfriend. These bouts were becoming quite familiar to the other. A product of the abuse they have endured. It makes her angry to see her friend in such a state. She didn’t know her before the incident, but there are signs that crying in front of someone like this would have been a rarity even just a year ago. It makes her very angry.

“You don’t deserve this,” Margot says. “It’s not right.”

“No one does. It’s so wrong and sick.”

Alana wipes her eyes before continuing.

“It’s sick that they can get away with what they did to us, to all those others.”

Margot furrows her brow.

“What if they didn’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we didn’t let them get away with it.”

“Margot, I don’t—”

“Mason isn’t the only one with access to papa’s money. I’ve been forging his signature for years. For little things here and there. But we are owed. We are owed so much more than that.”

“So you’re saying we go after Mason on our own?”

Margot smiles.

“Don’t you think we can? Haven’t you seen him lately?”

“They’ll know you did it. Or me.”

“Trust me, okay?”

“I trust you.”

“I trust you.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Margot spends the next several weeks pouring over her father’s will. It’s incredibly dense and extensive, covering everything from expenses to what steps need to be taken if any Verger happened to take a vacation and die overseas. But as she has come to know, neither her father nor her brother are without flaw, and so she searches for something in the depths of the document to free her and Alana from this hell.

Margot enters her brother’s room with a large accordion file and a solemn attorney shortly after his afternoon nap. If Mason could ever be considered agreeable, it would be at this time of day. Most likely due to being heavily medicated, she guesses.

“Brother?”

Mason opens his eyes. It takes him a while.

She steps further into the room.

“Brother?”

“What is it now? What could you possibly want?”

“I’m just checking on you.”

“I might not have a lot going for me right now, but I’m not an idiot, Margot.”

“I want something.”

“Obviously. Well, out with it. What do you want to waste papa’s money on now?”

“I want to enact a portion of papa’s will. Section 45, paragraph 3b, provision 8.”

“Margot, darling, I don’t have time for this. Can’t you whine about this to your little girlfriend?”

“I have my lawyer with me.”

“Lawyer?”

“Of the two of us, I am the only one of sound mind _and_ body. This section states that the sibling in possession of both of these qualities will be the one to run family accounts and the estate as a whole.”

“ _What_? Margot—”

“Furthermore,” she continues, “as neither of us are able to bear an heir, the fortune will forfeited to the state, unless you agree to sign over everything to me. Alana and I may want children one day. Would you rather have a future Verger have your money or would you prefer for it to go to an aquarium?”

She finishes her speech and feels both afraid and powerful all at once. Even a year ago, looking at documents regarding her future would have been punished severely, and here she was now. There was nothing he could really say now in his own defense.

“I’ll let you think on it,” she says.

Her lawyer stays with him, presumably to answer questions or to help him call his own attorney, but she turns on her heel and immediately makes her way back to Alana.

There was nothing else she wanted more right now than to remind herself that she could love and was loved.


	2. Chapter 2

“Not tonight, Hannibal,” Bedelia says, removing his wandering hands away from her.

“I apologize. I couldn’t help myself. You look divine tonight.”

She tries to smile graciously, but it probably comes off looking more disgusted than appreciative.

“Very well then,” Hannibal says.

He rises, but she remains seated. He leans in to kiss her good night, and she offers him her cheek. She knows she will pay dearly for that in some awful manner at a later date and time.

When Hannibal leaves the room, she breathes a sigh of relief. The days seemed to be getting longer and longer, and she knew her time was running out. Not to mention the fact that she was rapidly losing weight, having not eaten anything substantial in weeks due to Hannibal’s appetites. Her body was slowly weakening, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before Hannibal no longer viewed her as useful or interesting. Even fucking him would only hold his curiosity for so long.

She sighs and pours herself another glass of wine.

She looks out the window. It’s pitch black save for the stars and few lights from deeper in the city. It’s a beautiful city, but there wasn’t much to do while trapped in this gilded cage. There were plenty of books, but nothing mindless like television or even a radio for music. And using her cell phone on this side of the ocean would cost an astronomical amount of money.

Bedelia takes a long drink and watches the tiny lights reflect off the glass. It’s so deeply red in color that it could more precisely be called maroon.

 _Like blood,_ her mind supplies.

The thought makes her gag, and she puts it down and immediately stands.

Her skin prickles, like she’s being watched. And she is. She shivers.

Perhaps it would be best to join Hannibal in his bed tonight, considering how rude she was to him at dinner. He didn’t take kindly to being called “an overstuffed sausage in an ugly plaid suit.” Maybe spreading her legs would buy her a few days.

It’s not like there was anything else to do. She shopped for him, went to her Italian classes, ate meals with various victims, and lifted her skirt for him. All of it was to keep him happy. That was all that had ever mattered to Hannibal Lecter.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

They meet purely by accident. Or possibly purely by luck. 

Bedelia is just walking out of a shop when Chiyoh is about to walk in. Chiyoh puts her arm out to stop her.

“You.”

Bedelia’s eyes go wide for a moment before she recovers her composure. Whoever this women thought she was, it was important that she didn’t reveal her fear.

“Excuse me. I’d like to get by.”

“A source tells me you’re playing bride to Hannibal Lecter.”

Bedelia blinks, and Chiyoh knows she has her.

“I think you and I need to have a chat.”

Bedelia nods. Perhaps she was a government agent or a relative of a victim. If the outline of a knife sheath in her jeans was anything to go by, this woman was not to be trusted.

Blindly, and possibly stupidly, she follows this woman down streets she’s never been on until they reach a dead end. Fear and curiosity course through her, but she stays where she is. Whatever was about to happen here could not compare to the horrors at home. If the woman planned to kill her, she would welcome the easy death.

“Who are you?” she asks. “What do you want from me?”

“I am Chiyoh. I am a former employee of Hannibal Lecter’s. And I have recently be acquainted with Lecter’s boy.”

“Will Graham.”

Chiyoh smiles wickedly.

“Yes. He and I have been sharing stories as of late. Your name has come up several times.” 

Bedelia swallows.

“It was never my intention to become this involved with Hannibal Lecter, as you very well must know.”

“I do. That is why I am here. Will and I would like to recruit you.”

“Recruit me for what, exactly?”

Chiyoh knows that Bedelia knows what she’s offering, but respects her wish to have things spelled out. It would do neither of them any good to fight on the same side and not even be on the same page.

“Recruit you for the murder of Hannibal Lecter.”

“Yes,” she breathes, not even a moment of hesitation.

Chiyoh smiles again, softer this time. Or maybe she was imagining things.

“Good. I will be sending you further instructions, Mrs. Lecter.”

As Chiyoh walks away and out of site, Bedelia drops to her knees and cries. Maybe, just maybe, she would make it out alive.


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal’s estate is so large that it is easy for Will to hide out until he is sure Bedelia has left. Then it is a matter of navigating seemingly endless corridors until he finds the kitchen, which he knows Hannibal would keep close to his living quarters. It is only luck that he finds Hannibal in his study reading something and writing notes.

“We need to talk.”

~*~*~*~*~*

“Why did you never tell me, Hannibal? Why did I have to learn all this from Chiyoh instead of you? _Why?_ ”

Hannibal runs his fingers through Will’s curls.

“My poor, sweet boy. I wish I could give the world to you. As much as we might want it to be so, we were never meant to truly be together. It’s not something the fates have planned for us.”

“But I did everything you wanted. I lied for you, at flesh for you, _killed_ for you!”

“And do not think that any of that has gone unnoticed or unappreciated, my darling.”

Will pushes Hannibal’s comforting hands away.

“I love you, Hannibal. And I thought you felt the same. Th-that if I went through all of this, that the reward at the end would be us, together. The fantasies…”

Hannibal pulls will back towards him.

“Fantasies?”

In spite of himself, he nods against Hannibal’s chest. What more does he have to lose, at this point?

“I dreamed of finding you here. Of you being so glad to see me step off the boat that you’d have your way with me right there under the pier, where anyone could see us. That you’d make love to me, care for me, for once.”

Hannibal rests his chin on Will’s shoulder as he speaks.

“That does sounds nice, Will. Truly.”

Will sobs.

“But we both know that having you here with me will draw too much attention to the both of us. As soon as we come together, we would be torn asunder. And knowing you were ripped from my arms and locked away would be more than I could bear.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Hannibal pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and dabs carefully at Will’s teary face.

“You must dry your tears, and go back home. Feed your dogs, play with them. Remind them that they are loved. Teach, fish, read. You still have a life in America. It’s me they are looking for.”

Slowly, Will pulls away.

“You must go, Will.”

“Kiss me.”

“Will.”

“Kiss me!”

Roughly, Hannibal pulls him in by his face. Their lips meet and their tongues slip and slide before Hannibal is roughly shoving him away again.

“Please go.”

There is a moment where Will hesitates, but he knows a threat from Hannibal when he hears one. Chiyoh mentioned something about meeting her back at her boat once he and Hannibal had talked anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Graham. You lie and manipulate to get your own way, and I will not be bullied! You’re no better than Hannibal.”

When she sees he is about to protest, she promptly shuts him by shoving him backwards off her boat.

Finally. A life that was all her own.


	4. Chapter 4

“I want to try something tonight, Hannibal.”

Hannibal takes a bite of pork—that he swears is from a pig this time—and tilts his head to the side.

“What do you mean?”

She takes a drink of her wine, white this time.

“Bondage.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows fly up in spite of himself. Of all the things he might have expected from Bedelia in the bedroom that was not one of them. He tells her as much.

“Well, while I am surprised to hear the request coming from you, I would be more than happy to bind you however you wish. Your comfort and pleasure are very important to me.”

She smiles.

“I was thinking more along the lines of tying _you_ up.”

She takes another drink while she waits for him to digest the idea.

“I would be amenable. Though it is not normally my cup of tea.”

“You’ll be in good hands, Hannibal.”

~*~*~*~*~*

She hates to admit it, especially now, that Hannibal _is_ an attractive man. And she also hates to admit that he probably viewed her as being of equal beauty and saw her as the perfectly fitting wife. He’s bound quite securely to his armchair. She wonder if he suspects. But as she sinks down onto his cock, and he throws his head back with a groan, that no, he doesn’t suspect a thing.

Because at this moment in time, he doesn’t view her as a threat or even as a target. What is to fear when she has set about pleasuring him while wearing nothing but a loose-fitting top and bra? And that is where his downfall lies: underestimating her. For beneath the flowing layers, there is a small dagger strapped near the clasp of her bra.

And so she rises and moves a short distance away to remove the rest of her clothes and tosses her shirt off with his eyes watching her. And when she reaches around with his mouth agape and his dick sticking straight up, she relishes the look she receives she pulls out the knife.

“Bedelia.”

“You underestimated me, Hannibal.”

“Bedelia, please.”

She laughs. Didn’t he see it was too late? Didn’t he see that she was in control now? He obviously didn’t like that very much. Bedelia walks slowly back to him and relishes in the way he futile tries to escape.

“Burn in hell, Hannibal.”

With all her might and all her anger, she plunges the blade into the space where his heart used to be. 

She flees before his screams reach her ears. She changes into new clothes, grabs her purse, and leaves the manor.

With shaking hands, she pulls out a slip of paper with Chiyoh’s number on it. She answers on the third ring.

“It’s done.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“I don’t know how I feel yet.”

“The sea air will do you good. You deserve some rest.”

Bedelia smiles.


End file.
